I am a child of Sputnik,
duck and cover, I am an old front line cold warrior, manned and ready, doing my
bit to assure mutual destruction. I am watching the news with interest, all my
old hoodoos up and running, Edger screaming, “Who will save the planet?” It use
to take eighteen minutes to release the horsemen forty odd years ago, send them
arching over the world. We are so much more technically proficient these days,
real-time observation providing up-to-the-minute machinations we can do nothing
about but bluster and huff our chest and ring our hands and pretend our own preemptive
invasions have not given precedent. We hold our moral superiority aloft and
shake it under their noses like one of those plucked rubber chickens. We drone
on burning more than our bridges, scorching pieces of our earth while they scorch
pieces of theirs.
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